Beer Guide to the 1970s (part sixty-six)

We're almost done with this series. How long ago did I start it? Ages. The Middle Ages, I think, was when I started.

It's another three Whitbread breweries. Only one of which produced cask beer in the 1970s. And only one of which is still open.

The one which is still brewing is another of the new large breweries erected in the 1970s. Though, unlike Luton and Runcorn, this one wasn't a disaster. Which is why it's still open. I've no idea what it brewed in the 1970s. Probably Trophy, Tankard and Heineken.

Wateringbury was a weird one. I'm not sure that the beers it brewed ever showed up in the UK market. It probably brewed Pale Ale and Extra Stout for the Belgian market.

Wethered was one of the really good breweries Whitbread owned. They brewed a full range of cask in the 1970s, but in the 1980s increasingly concentrated in the Bitter, which became fairly common in Whitbread's London pubs. Then they shut the brewery and produced a much inferior version in Cheltenham.


Wateringbury
Wateringbury,
Kent.
Founded:    1821
Closed:            1982
Tied houses:    

Bought 1927. Originally Frederick Leney. No cask. Mostly export beer.



Wethered
Marlow
Founded:    1790
Closed:            1988
Tied houses:    714

Bought in 1969. Their beers were excellent. So, of course, Whitbread closed them.

beer	style	format	OG	description
SPA	Pale Ale	draught	1041.6	well-hopped
Trophy	Pale Ale	draught	1036.6	well-balanced
Dark Mild	Mild	draught	1030.6	pleasant
Winter Royal	Strong Ale	draught	1056.8	full-bodied

Whitbread West Pennines
Samlesbury,
Lancashire.
Founded:    1972
Closed:            still open
Tied houses:    

A large, new brewery. That didn’t brew cask. 

The above is an excerpt from my latest book, "Keg!".

Get your copy of "Keg!" now!

Let's Brew - 1887 Truman (Burton) P2 Export B

Another variant of P2 is this export bottling version. Meant for, er, bottling and export. It’s not complicated. There was also a straight P2 B. But that was pretty much identical to P2 Stock.

Whereas the export version is considerably more heavily hopped than even P2 Stock. At over 20 lbs per quarter (336 lbs) of malt, it’s in IPA territory. Very heavy, even for the 19th century. All fresh hops, from the 1886 harvest. Two thirds from Kent, one third from Worcester. Top-quality stuff.

Not much to say about the grist. Which was, again, 100% of a single type of pale malt.

Now for the tricky bit. How long was this aged? Quite a long time. My guess is 12 months in wood then another six months in bottle. 

1887 Truman (Burton) P2 Export B
pale malt	14.00 lb	100.00%
Fuggles 180 mins	3.50 oz
Fuggles 60 mins	3.50 oz
Goldings 30 mins	3.50 oz
Goldings dry hops	1.50 oz
OG	1060
FG	1013
ABV	6.22
Apparent attenuation	78.33%
IBU	126
SRM	5
Mash at	151º F
Sparge at	170º F
Boil time	180 minutes
pitching temp	58º F
Yeast	WLP013 London Ale (Worthington White Shield)

Festival!

With no early start, I lie in until 8. I have a shower and troll downstairs at about 8:45. Uwe and Andreas are there. Martyn comes down a few minutes later. And then Sandy.

No bacon today. Damn. I was looking forward to that. Those sliced up sausages really don’t do it for me. It's back to scrambled egg and cheese. Followed by fruit.

A breakfast of mixed fresh fruit, orange juice and coffee.

After breakfast I write up yesterday back in my room. And have a little pisco and coke eye opener.

We meet in the lobby at 10:30 for our little excursion to Ergo, Daniel’s brewery. Well, cellar, really. There’s rather more of us than originally anticipated. We have to get an extra capacity Uber to squeeze everyone in.

The cellar is housed in part of a former furniture factory. Down a fairly dodgy-looking industrial street. The factory has seen better days. Though perhaps not that better. The concrete looks pretty shoddy, in parts.

There’s a steep narrow staircase down to the cellar.

“Are you OK with that?” Daniel asks. “You could use the lift.”

“It’s OK. I live in Amsterdam. I’ve seen worse.” And the lift looks even more rickety. I’ll take my chances with the stairs.

It’s a fairly compact space. With barrels, bottles and cans crammed into most of the available room.

Wooden barrels in the Ergo cellar.

For several hours, Daniel plies us with samples of all sorts of barrel-aged stuff. Starting with cider and perry. Some his own, some from a producer further south. All really good. One batch was made with apples from a single tree.

We try lots of Daniels own concoctions. Barrel-aged beers with all sorts of things in them. Quite adventurous. And mostly pretty good.

The toilets are, er, interesting.

“Do you remember that scene in Trainspotting?” Daniel asks.

I do. They aren’t quite that bad. But are still pretty grim.

The rather dodgy toilets at Ergo.

We eventually drag ourselves away. Getting a couple of Ubers to transport us to the beer festival. Which is outdoors, in a park. And very nice it is, too.

Gran Festival Cervercero Independiente, or the Great Chilean Beer Festival, is, as the name implies, a festival for independent Chilean breweries. Though nothing like all of them.

A section of the park has been fenced off. Inside are four dozen or so brewery stands. Along with ones for food and other stuff. It’s all very relaxed. Oh, I almost forgot, you have the Andes in the background.

Lots of families are present. Once again, I’m struck by the youth of the beer crowd in South America. Unlike in most of Europe and the USA. Where many of those into beer are over 50. It’s a sign that the scene is much newer here.

The Mowa brewery stand at the beer festival.

We wander a bit around the brewer stands, getting the odd sample. And food. It’s after 4 PM and I haven’t eaten since breakfast. Other than a few crisps at Daniel’s.

I get a prawn handroll. Which is a long tube of rice with a filling, wrapped in breadcrumbs and deep fried. It’s very filling. Which is just what I need right now.

Prawn handroll on a table.

I recognise that smell. You get it a lot in Amsterdam. Weed. It’s not just beer that’s being consumed.

We’re headed for the stage. Where the competition medals will be awarded. Chris wants us all there by 5 PM.

Currently, there’s a blues band on stage. Look at that. The fucker’s playing a 5-string bass. Work of the devil, those things.

I wander off to get a refill. And notice the Klein stand. A brewery in Temuco, which I visited last September. The young woman serving recognises me and signals for me to come over. And gives me a beer. Which is nice of her.

The band is still banging away come the awards time of 17:30. Who knows when it will start now. Understanding how long this going to take, I sit on an equipment box at the side of the stage. After a while, Daniella, one of the stewards at the contest, brings over a folding chair for me. Which is nice of her. That’s much better.

Eventually the band fucks off and awards are given. The winners get very excited. As they are fully entitled to. But it all goes on a very long time. Chris looks exhausted when it ends.

He offers to give Sandy and me a lift back to the hotel.

“Let’s go now.” He says. Then gets distracted multiple times. It’s almost an hour later, at well after 20:30, when we emerge from the park. By which time I’m starting to be in the need for a wee.

It’s getting quite late when we’re back at the hotel.

“One last nightcap, Ron?” Chris asks.

“OK, twist my arm, then. Just let go and have a piss first.”

A few judges gradually drift into the hotel bar Pisco sours are ordered, including one for me.

Martyn's vintage beers, two glasses of Royal Wedding Ale and a pisco sour.

Martyn brings down the bottles which were intended for a vintage beer tasting. I brought over bottles, too. We just never seemed to have time to do it. A bottle of Royal Wedding beer is opened.

“That’s not as dreadful as I feared. It’s actually quite drinkable.” Martyn remarks.

I don’t linger over my pisco sour. I need to be up at 6 AM. Luckily the clocks are changing overnight. Going back an hour. Giving me an extra hour of kip.




Gran Festival Cervercero Independiente
Parque Padre Hurtado,
Avda. Francisco de Bilbao 8105,
La Reina,
Santiago.



Disclaimer: a fee, my hotel and some meals were paid by the Chile Independent Beer Week.
 

Mountains again

It's another very early start. I'm up at 6:45. I love getting up early so much. So much I’m going to carry on rising before 7 AM every day when I return home.

It's the usual drill at breakfast Scrambled egg and bacon, with a pudding of fruit.

A breakfast of scrambled egg, bacon, orange juice and coffee.

The bus is due to leave at 7:30. Amazingly, it leaves at 7:40. Unbelievable.

Traffic is really bad. It takes forever to get outside Santiago. As we're crawling along Andreas notices a billboard advertising a Shakira concert.

"We should go." he says. He checks if there are still tickets. Amazingly, there are. He books tickets for himself, Richard and Uwe.

We take a different route today. Which goes through some dodgy-looking residential areas. Where dogs roam and there’s a shack-like shop on every corner. It takes even longer than yesterday. A full two hours. I’m well in need of a piss when we pull into the car park of Tübinger

After a comfort stop, I grab myself a coffee and some juice and get ready for the first talk.

Karsten Zufall gives a very technical talk about keeping yeast viable when you're not brewing. It's in Spanish, but I can work out maybe 75% of it. Way more than I understood of the Spanish native speakers. Interesting that.

Did I ever mention my love of languages? Beer isn’t the only obsession I’ve ever had. I’ve a bit more fucking depth than that. A good bit of the 1980s and 1990s, I spent studying languages. In my own particular way. The novel and dictionary method. The linguistic equivalent of learning how to swim by being thrown in at the deep end.

I had a couple of goes at Spanish. For some reason, it never stuck. Well, not enough of it. I can still understand a fair bit when it’s written or people speak slowly. It’s not like I’m in Budapest.

Richard talks about oxidation and how to avoid it. Also very technical. But at least it’s in English. He’s very passionate on the topic. I hope the brewers in the audience are paying attention. Oxidation is the most common fault I come across when judging in South America.

Ben Wood (left) and Matynn Cornell (right) on stage for "A History of Porter and Stout in South America"

I'm presenting with Martyn. He kicks off with a discussion of Porter and Stout history in general and in South America in particular. It’s as erudite as you would expect from the absolute expert on the topic. I learn loads. Hope I can remember some of it.

I come in at the end with seven London Porter recipes from different periods. Followed by two Irish and one Scottish. Obviously, I can’t restrain myself from talking way too much. There’s just so much to say about 19th-century Porter grists.

We go outside for lunch. The sun shines. Though the mountains are hazy today, they’re still there. I have a Hoppy Helles in front of me. And no commitments over the next few days other than to having a good time.

Gabi sits next to me and I finally hand over the copy of Vintage Beer I brought out for her.

Sweetcorn mush with a lump of meat.

The food is pretty good: ground sweetcorn with a lump of beef. We’ve been eating well so far. Maybe a little too much pizza. At least it’s been decent pizza.

We leave, on schedule, at 4 PM. Heading for the brewpub Cervecería Intrinsical. It doesn’t take quite as long as the outward journey. Probably because we’re on the motorway for longer.

I recognise where we are as we approach our destination. It’s just around the corner from where I stayed with the kids last July. This is weirdly nostalgic.

We sit upstairs. I didn’t realise they had an upstairs.

“It’s much warmer than last time I was here.” I remark.

“When was that?”

"Last July. It was so cold everyone was wearing their overcoats. Inside."

The price list upstairs in brewpub Intrinsical.

For my free beer, I get a West Coast IPA. It's OK. But I'm after something a little stronger.

"Could I have a gin and tonic?"

"I'm sorry, I can't serve you that.”

What the fuck?

“I've no tonic. Will ginger beer do instead?"

Phew.  "That's fine.'

It comes with rather too much ice. Which I fish out. When I order a second, I ask for just one cube.

After that Sandy, me and Karsten get an Uber back to the hotel. None of us feel like staying up much later.

Other than quickly nipping to Lider for a little food and drink, I do bugger all for the rest of the evening. Just watching Youtube and drinking some cheapo pisco. I turn in about 10:30.



Cervecería Intrinsical
Av. Brasil 88,
8340554 Santiago,
Región Metropolitana.
https://www.intrinsical.cl/



Disclaimer: a fee, my hotel and some meals were paid by the Chile Independent Beer Week.
 

 

Let's Brew Wednesday - 1883 Truman (Burton) P2 Stock

As promised, here’s the Stock version of P2. Did I promise it? I certainly forgot about it. How different is it from the Runner? Well, not that much.

As you’ve probably guessed, the difference is all in the hopping. For a start, the quantity. Which is 16.5 lbs per quarter (336 lbs) of malt compared 12 lbs for the Runner. Exactly what you would expect. The Stock version is more heavily hopped to preserve it during maturation.

The types of hops also differ. There are four types, rather than three. And only one is English, the others being American, Bavarian and Bohemian Saaz. None of which, sadly, have a vintage listed.

The grist remains just a single type of base pale malt. Not much room for discussion there.

This one would have been aged for at least 12 months, possibly more, in trade casks. I’ve reduced the FG from the racking gravity to take into account the secondary fermentation in the cask. 

1883 Truman (Burton) P2 Stock
pale malt	14.50 lb	100.00%
Cluster 180 mins	2.25 oz
Hallertau 90 mins	2.25 oz
Saaz 60 mins	2.25 oz
Goldings 30 mins	2.25 oz
Goldings dry hops	1.50 oz
OG	1062
FG	1013
ABV	6.48
Apparent attenuation	79.03%
IBU	123
SRM	5
Mash at	152º F
Sparge at	170º F
Boil time	180 minutes
pitching temp	58º F
Yeast	WLP013 London Ale (Worthington White Shield)

Up in the mountains

I’m up fucking early. I drag my sweaty arse out of bed at way too long before seven. Throw some water and toothpaste around and frolic cheerfully downstairs. Yeah, I’m so bright and joyful.

An early start is planned. The bus is scheduled for 7:30. I get downstairs a little after 7 and have bacon and scrambled egg. Already a good day. It started with bacon. Though I need jumpstarting with a few coffees.

A breakfast of scrambled egg and bacon. The orange juice and coffee are hidden.

If you're learning something, it's how little I eat in the morning.

Obviously, the bus doesn't leave until 8. Which is earlier than I expected. My money was on 8:30. We’re headed for Tübinger, the brewery Chris founded. Which is in Pirgue, a town to the south of Santiago.

The bus is a double decker. I sit next to Martyn one row back from the front on the top deck. We can see coming all the branches that smash into the windscreen. The roof of the bus must be scratched to buggery.

Once off the motorway, the bus struggles with the narrow roads and tight corners. We cross stony rivers, their beds strewn with pirque. A tight brown rope of water, flanked by fields of rocky eggs.

Small shops line the roads. Tight-walled houses enclose a fruit tree or two. Orchards flash by. Pears hang in tiny gardens. Vineyards spread like water into every void. Enclosed by walls of pirque stones. Some drywall. Dusty orchards, leaves already browning, look on forlornly.

We roll up at the pirque-walled Tubinger taproom.

When I first came here in 2017, there was no taproom. Just a production brewery. There was a garden and the occasional barbecue, but no regular retail sales. Now there’s a distinctive circular taproom with an outdoor patio. And a garden. With the fucking Andes in the background. It’s pretty hard to beat that. Especially in Holland. Not many mountain views there.

Judges and exhibitors chatting outside Tübinger taproom.

There's coffee, juice and cake in the Tubinger taproom. To get us in the mood for the talks. Which are all in Spanish except for Andreas's. For whom Ben Wood translates.

When the beer comes on, I get myself a hazy IPA. Which is OK. (Using all my cicerone descriptive skills there.)

After a while, Chris suggests me and Martyn sit outside with Richard, Uwe and Andreas. Which is what we do. All the gringoes together. It is a bit tiring trying to follow stuff in Spanish, a language with which I only have a vague acquaintance.

It's about 3 PM when we head off to La Montaña. You may be able to guess something about it from the name. It’s halfway up a mountain. Getting to Tubinger wasn’t so easy for our double-decker. How is this going to go?

Not that easily. The last part is down a narrow, dusty road. After a while we come to a very rickety looking bridge. To lower the weight, we all get out and walk across. Followed by the bus. Which gets
across the bridge safely, but then struggles with the hill. Empty.

Judges walking over a rickety wooden bridge with a bus in the background.

It looks like we're walking the last bit. Uphill. Then Martin turns up in his car and offers me a lift. Which is a relief. We drive along dirt roads through vineyards and orchards, getting rather lost. This is quite a large estate. Eventually, we find our way.

It's a beautiful setting. At the base of a mountain, as the name implies. Beyond the vines and fruit trees there’s a nature reserve. The brewery and its taproom are crammed into a narrow valley. I get myself a Märzen and sit down. God, I feel knacked.

We have some pizza and chat. Me and Martyn get a quick tour of the brewery. Which is full of the usual shiny stuff. The brewery is a fairly recent addition to the vineyard that the family has run for generations.

Outside La Montana brewery chilling.

When it starts getting dark, fires are lit outside. Initially, they belch out smoke. Turning us all into honorary kippers.

A Brazilian conference speaker comes around with a Weber Haus seven wood cachaca. Which is dead good. Amburana, balsa, cinnamon, oak and three other types of barrels all contribute to the flavour. Though what stands out is the amburana. Which I love.

Chris says we'll head back around 20:00. I get a lift down to where the bus is. And am the first one on. It leaves at 20:50.

By the time we reach the hotel, it's 22:30. I go straight to my room and write this over a whisky. I'm so tired I just want my bed.



Tübinger Taproom
C. Nueva 6a,
9480000 Pirque,
Región Metropolitana.
https://www.cervezatubinger.cl/taproom/


La Montaña
Unnamed Rd,
Paine,
Región Metropolitana.
http://www.la-montana.cl/



Disclaimer: a fee, my hotel and some meals were paid by the Chile Independent Beer Week.

 

Homecomings

How much has my life improved since I retired? Fucking hugely. Almost all my daily annoyances have disappeared. Every one of them connected to work. From irritating colleagues, rubbish food, crowded trams and just simply having to do what some other fucker wanted for 8 hours every fucking day. I'd had enough.

The difference when I come home from a trip is enormous. Trip, currently, means South America. In the past the USA. Both long transatlantic trips. I never really looked forward to returning. Not because I wasn't delighted to see my family. It was the spectre of work.

I flight of three piscos.

Shortage of holidays and scheduling concerns at work meant I'd often land at Schiphol at 6:30 and be at work a couple of hours later. Not something any normal person would look forward to. Though, returning to work a day or two later would have been almost as depressing.

Going back to being a wage slave. After being somewhere where you were a someone. At least for a few days.

What a difference to now. After a week of continuous heavy drinking, sorry, judging, I'm looking forward to seeing - even if I don't immediately recognise - my wife and kids. That, and not having to fucking work immediately, have made my homecomings so much happier.

However much I've enjoyed my travels, I'm unequivocally happy to be back.

I'm enjoying the happy time while it lasts. Because nothing lasts forever.

Judging ends

I awake at 7:20. It's still dark outside. This could make life difficult.

We're supposed to be meeting for breakfast at 7:30. When I get down at 7:45 no other judges are there. Martyn shows up around 8:15. And a few other judges trickle in.

A breakfast of bacon and scrambled egg.

The good news is that they have bacon. So it's scrambled egg and bacon for breakfast. Followed by some fruit. Along with orange juice and a couple of cups of coffee. I need waking up.

Judging is supposed to start at 8:30. When I enter the judging room at 8:50 there are just two judges. I guess we'll be starting later. A late start doesn’t particularly surpriser or concern me. I’m used to South America. It’s best to just take things as they come.

The mini-Best of Show round starts around 9:30. Though I'm not involved.

"I'm saving you for the Best of Show." Chris tells me.

“I could have had another two hours in bed, then.” I don’t reply. I’m too polite for that.

Not sure if being saved for the BOS is a good or a bad thing. At least I've got some time to write. Which is exactly what I'm doing. That’s how I fill in all the dead time. Except for when I’m doomscrolling.

I chat with Ben Wood for a while about his attempt to recreate the beer of his ancestor's brewery in Boston. I suspect he won’t find any brewing records or recipes. Some suggestions of places he can look are the best I can do.

Best of Show judging.

The Best of Show is with Sandy, Uwe, Martyn and Andreas. It's remarkably painless. We take it in urns to kick out a beer until only three are left: Catharina Sour, Belgian Strong Dark Ale and a Nutella Oatmeal Stout. The Belgian Strong Dark Ale just wins out over the Catharina Sour. But it was very close.

“You like pisco, don’t you?” Chilean judge Daniel says as he hands me a bottle of pisco. “Share this later with some of the other judges.”

Do I like pisco? Is poop in the woods?. Will I share this with the other judges? Yes, sure. Really sure. No way I’ll scurry up to my room and drink it all on my own. Really. No way I’ll Bogart it.

“Do you want a lift?” Chris asks.

“Of course, I fucking do.” I don’t say.

“That would be nice.” I do.

We’re going to Estación Tropera, the lunch location. Where we’re sitting in a covered outdoor area. Which, judging by the ashtrays, is usually the haunt of smokers.

It’s long table time again. Well, two long tables. As a latecomer, I’m at the end again.

Judges eating pizza.

I have some pizza and a couple of pisco sours. Both are pretty nice. I’ve really become quite the food critic, haven’t I? OK, the pizza is crispy on the bottom with stuff on top of it. That should give you an idea. Expect lots more use of the word “nice” in future food and drink descriptions.

I go back to my hotel. From where I nip out to the Lider supermarket and get myself a bottle of cheap pisco and a nice one. One for the hotel, the other for taking home. I hope that’s enough. The cheap one should be good enough for Andrew.

Tonight, we're gathering in KrossBar. Where, shockingly, they sell the beers of the Kross brewery. We're expected there from 19:00. I get an Uber there at 19:45. And I'm the first one there. It's after 20:00 before anyone else arrives.

We’re in the rooftop bar, which is open to the stars. Or at least will be once the sun has finished going down. There’s a great view over to dusty brown mountains. A wan crescent moon hanging in the milky sky above them.

I drink a Maibock. At least to start with. I soon switch to pisco sours. Beer is so filling. And, well, I am in Chile. It would be an insult to the nation to eschew pisco sour.

Two plates of steak and chips.

We get plates of grilled beef and chips. Pretty good stuff again. It fills a food-sized hole. Which has appeared in the age since lunch.

Back at the hotel lobby, we get stuck into Daniel’s pisco. Didn’t have time earlier to drink it all by myself. Damn. Some people end up getting pretty pissed. But not me.

I leave before it gets too messy. Because I’m a good boy, me. And I need to make sure I get enough sleep. It’s another early start tomorrow. Aren’t they always early starts at these events?



Estación Tropera
Av Vitacura 3285,
7630578 Vitacura,
Región Metropolitana.


KrossBar BordeRío
Costanera Sur S.J.E. de Balaguer 6400,
LOCAL 2B,
7640859 Santiago,
Vitacura,
Región Metropolitana.
https://www.kross.cl/locales-krossbar



Disclaimer: a fee, my hotel and some meals were paid by the Chile Independent Beer Week.
 

Let's Brew - 1883 Truman (Burton) P1 Stock

Unsurprisingly, top of the Pale Ale tree is P1. In this case, a stock version. Despite not officially being named so, it’s a classic Burton IPA.

It’s generally pretty similar to P2 Stock. Just a little bit stronger. Though the hopping is quite different. Being just a single type of English hops. Or, at least, I think they’re English. In the log the description is an indecipherable squiggle. One thing I do know for certain is that they were from the 1882 harvest.

Not much to say about the grist. Which is all a single type of pale malt. Making this a SMASH beer. How modern.

Obviously, this beer underwent ageing. At least twelve months in trade casks. Possibly even more. Which is why I’ve reduced the FG from the racking gravity of 1022º. 

1883 Truman (Burton) P1 Stock
pale malt	15.50 lb	100.00%
Fuggles 180 mins	3.25 oz
Fuggles 60 mins	3.25 oz
Fuggles 30 mins	3.25 oz
Goldings dry hops	1.50 oz
OG	1067
FG	1014
ABV	7.01
Apparent attenuation	79.10%
IBU	109
SRM	5.5
Mash at	150º F
Sparge at	165º F
Boil time	180 minutes
pitching temp	56º F
Yeast	WLP013 London Ale (Worthington White Shield)

Back to judging

Nature's alarm clock isn't working. It's still dark when I rise at 7:30. Just as well I woke up without it.

Downstairs, I sit with Martyn. And have my classic Brazilian breakfast of scrambled egg and cheese. Except I don't have time for fruit. Most importantly, I have two cups of coffee. 

A breakfast of scrambled egg, cheese, coffee and orange juice.

No bus to catch this time. Judging is in a conference room in the hotel. Which is perfect. No pissing around getting bussed around backwards and forwards. And you can always nip back to your room. Or disappear when they’re press-ganging judges for Best of Show.

Turns out I'm table captain, for a change. I’ve not done that for a while. It should be fun as Gabi Demozzi is on my table. She's always a good laugh. She was in Bahia and Balneário Camboriú, but I haven’t judged with her before.

It only seems a couple of weeks since I last judged. Hang on a minute, it is. About three weeks, to be exact.

People sitting in a room doing judging type things.

Our table starts with eight samples of Juicy or Hazy Pale Ale. A couple of really weird examples: one tastes of toothpaste, another of onion and garlic.

Next come four American-Style India Pale Ales. Another mixed bag, some having weird hop flavours.

The pale and hazy theme continues with 13 samples of Juicy or Hazy India Pale Ale. This is going to be fun.

We break for lunch halfway through the Hazy IPAs. Thankfully. As I’m feeling all hopped out. Lunch is just over the road at Honesto Mike. A sort of American bar.

Our party is sitting at a large table upstairs. We're at one end, as we arrive quite late. I'm with Martyn and Uwe. Our food takes forever to arrive. Most of the others have left before we even get our meals plonked in front of us.

They’re burgers. One with avocado and a fried egg for me. Didn't notice the avocado when I ordered. I’m hungry enough to eat it, anyway. I have a couple of pisco sours to wash it down.

I’m so glad when we’ve finished the Hazy IPAs. They’re really hard work. All that fucking dankness. Way too many oniony hops over the three sets of Pale Ales. Some Izal, too. Can’t stand that.

All the afternoon flights are pretty small. Starting with single examples of Baltic-Style Porter and Specialty Honey Beer.

We finish with five samples of home brew beers, all different styles. We advance one of the five. Not sure why I’m telling you this. Other than for the sake of completeness. And to give you an idea of the pure hell of judging.

By the time we're done, it's 18:15. Which leaves me about an hour to chill in my room. And that’s what I do. Just me, a laptop and a bottle of whisky. Everything I need for a good time. I pour myself a double and fire up Mock the Week.

"Do you want to come with me in my car to Tamango?" Chris messages me.

"Yes, please." I’m a lazy git. As I’ll keep reminding you.

The brewpub Tamango is where the judges are meeting tonight. It isn’t that far from the hotel. Just about a mile. I don't think Chris takes the most direct route. Given how long it takes us to get there. I don’t care as long as I don’t have to walk.

It’s a very modern sort of place. Where we get a free beer on arrival. My favourite style of beer. A Grand Prix IPA for me. Which is quite nice. (Still top-notch tasting notes from me, eh?)

Time for some food. I order croquettes. Very good, they are. Up to the standard of those in Colarinho in Rio. Though these aren’t cod. Later the owner brings us some prawns. Dead yummy, loaded with garlic. Which goes much better in prawns than in beer.

Five croquettes on a plate.

"I've heard you like gin. Would you like to try ours?" The owner asks.

What I might (not really) say: "Oh no, I’d better not. I don't want to drink too much."

What the voice in my head is saying: "YEEESSS. Pour the whole bottle straight down my throat."

What I actually say: "Maybe I could try a small one."

The gin is also rather nice. Spot on for a London dry gin.

I’m sitting with Gabi, Andreas, Martyn, Uwe and Chris. An entertaining bunch. We chat about a whole range of things. As we chew on our food. Things are going really well. Gin, croquettes, prawns and a little bit of love. Of those three, the gin is the best, to be honest.

I get myself another Grand Prix. I quite like it. And it washes down the gin rather well.

Chris gives me a lift back to the hotel. Lazy old git that I am. Where my old chum Tomatin accompanies me to the land of nod.




El Honesto Mike - Vitacura
Nivel -1A,
Av Vitacura 4607,
Local 22,
Vitacura,
Región Metropolitana.


Tamango Bar Restaurant
Juan Bautista Pastene 3101,
7630265 Vitacura,
Región Metropolitana.
http://www.tamango.cl/bars



Disclaimer: a fee, my hotel and some meals were paid the Chile Independent Beer Week.

Night flight to Chile

And here we go again. With more reports of yet another trip to South America. Not sure why this keeps happening. Other than that I love the continent and keep asking people to invite me there.

 

It's a late start. My flight isn't until 20:50. Meaning that I don't leave home until 17:40.

Schiphol isn't that busy. Especially not my pushing in bit. There's not even a queue at passport control, for once. Now there's a novelty. Before I know it, I'm in the duty free with a bottle of Tomatin in my hand.

An orange juice and a whisky in the KLM lounge at Schiphol.

Plenty of seats in the lounge. Where I do something strange. I get two drinks. But only one is a whisky. The other is orange juice. I get myself a plate of food as well. Dauphinoise potatoes and beef stroganoff. Which isn't bad.

When I go back for more food, the stroganoff has been replaced by chicken rendang. Not very authentic, but tasty enough. I read Private Eye between sips and chomps.

Chicken rendang, potatoes, orange juice, whisky and a banana.

I get myself another whisky. Just the one. I don't want to be wrecked before I get on the plane. Who wants to be a plane wreck?

My flight is delayed by 15 minutes. Do I believe that? It’s always longer than the first announcement. Often like a creeping barrage, advancing by 30 minutes every half hour.

When I wander down to the gate, I realise I’ve fucked my timing. They’re still a way off boarding. I have a bit of hanging around. Which is what I hate. Thankfully, it's not too long.

We leave about thirty minutes late. Not having a connecting flight, I couldn't really give a toss.

After another inspiring KLM meal, I get my head down. And have a good 5 or 6 hours kip. Which is a win. Then I have another 3 or 4 hours dozing. Making the time fly by. So to speak.

Woken up, I watch 17 Again. Which is total bollocks, but distracting enough, I suppose.

We land in Buenos Aires at around 5:30. We trail off the plane and through security again. We're at gate 10. Which is right next to the bar I drank in last year. As I have time, I get myself an IPA. OK, it's 6 AM. But I'm in an airport, so that's OK. It's not bad. The IPA, I mean.

Chachingo Beer Corner bar in Buenos Aires airport.

We load back onto the plane at around 7 AM. This is such fun.

I watch some TV. They bring us a spinach pastry which is adequately edible. I wash it down with a red wine. Which is eminently drinkable.

Immigration is quieter than usual. I get into the oldie person queue. Which goes slowly. One woman takes ages to process. The agent leaves his booth a couple of times, presumably to get advice.

I don't have to wait for my bag - hooray! And there are people with a car waiting to collect me. Even better. It's not long before we're bouncing down the motorway.

While I'm checking in, I bump into another two judges, Richard Dubé and Andreas Kält. Who are headed into town for a little tour.

“Do you want to join us?”

“Why not? I’ve nothing else planned.”

“Meet us down here in 45 minutes.”

There’s my afternoon sorted. But first, it's time to drop my shit in my room and freshen up. It doesn't take long. I'm feeling incredibly chipper, considering the 18-hour flight.

Richard has a list of places he wants to visit. We start by getting an Uber to Plaza de Armas. And then go for a wander. Until we get to Dominó, a completo (Chilean hotdog) place, Where the others order hotdogs. While I plump for cheese empanadas. 

Cheese empanadas, pisco sours, hotdogs and chips on a table.

And a pisco sour. I am in Chile, after all. It’s my first of the trip. Thus, one of huge significance. You always remember your first, they say. I suspect I’ll struggle to recall much about this particular pisco sour by the end of the afternoon.

We sit outside. Where it’s very pleasant in the shade. Shoppers stream past, as we sip sophisticatedly on our drinks. Only time for the two piscos. Other places to visit.

It's a bit of a walk over to our next destination, the central market. The city centre is bustling with people going about their business. Office workers in suits and ties dodge between strolling students. Everywhere impromptu markets offer anything imaginable from blankets on the ground. Typical Chile. Every day and everywhere is market day.

A dog lying in the sun in front of a fruit and veg market stall.

We quickly glance around the official market. Which is much less impressive than Temuco’s. And a lot smaller than I expected.

In one of the buildings encircling the market hall, we get meat empanadas at Emporio Zonino, a famous pie shop. Which explains the queue. The empanadas are excellent, but boiling hot. Making them a bit painful to eat.

The empanadas in Emporio Zonino.

Finally, what I’ve been looking forward to all day: Pisco Republic. While Richard is off looking around more of the city, Andreas and I sit in the garden at the rear. We start with flights. Artisanal for him, premium for me. Very good, they are. And quite diverse in flavour. Ranging from intensely fruity to darkly oaky.

A Pisco Republic pisco sour with a star in the foam.

When Richard joins us, we move on to pisco sours. Which are rather nice. Even though I'm using a cheap pisco in mine. So nice are the piscos, we have a few. There’s time enough. Why not use it wisely?

We get an Uber to Flannery’s Irish Geo Pub, where tonight’s judges’ reception is. We're upstairs. There's a fruit beer on draught which is quite pleasant. In a soft, fruity, red way.

I'm surprised to see Martyn here. He collapsed on the plane and had to receive emergency medical treatment in the airport. He seems fine now, thankfully.

We do some drinking, eating and chatting. Chris Flaskamp, the organiser, gives an introductory talk. It's all very jolly as I reacquaint myself with loads of the judges. So many of them were in Balneário Camboriú a couple of weeks ago.

I don't stay out too late. I need to be up around 7:30 tomorrow. Some Tomatin helps me into sleep’s sweet embrace.


Dominó
Paseo Estado 119,
8320224 Santiago,
Región Metropolitana.
https://domino.cl/


Mercado Central de Santiago
San Pablo,
Santiago,
Región Metropolitana.


Emporio Zunino
P.º Puente 801,
8320011 Santiago,
Región Metropolitana.
http://www.emporiozunino.cl/


Chipe Libre - República Independiente del Pisco
José Victorino Lastarria 282,
8320165 Santiago,
Región Metropolitana.
http://www.chipe-libre.cl/


Flannery's Irish Geo Pub
Encomenderos 179,
7550152 Las Condes,
Región Metropolitana.



Disclaimer: a fee, my hotel and some meals were paid the Chile Independent Beer Week.
 

Let's Brew Wednesday - 1883 Truman (Burton) PA 2

Next up, strength-wise, is PA 2. The running version. We’ll be seeing the stock version in a minute.

There’s not much to say about the recipe. Not just because there are very few ingredients. But, also, because it was parti-gyled with the Pale Ale above. You can read my comments on the ingredients in that recipe.

What more can I say? It’s very similar to Pale Ale, except that there’s a little more of everything in it. Malt, copper hops and dry hops.

As with Pale Ale, it would not have undergone any lengthy ageing. No more than three months, in trade casks.
 

1883 Truman (Burton) PA 2
pale malt	14.50 lb	100.00%
Fuggles 180 mins	2.25 oz
Fuggles 60 mins	2.25 oz
Goldings 30 mins	2.25 oz
Goldings dry hops	1.25 oz
OG	1062
FG	1017.5
ABV	5.89
Apparent attenuation	71.77%
IBU	80
SRM	5
Mash at	150º F
Sparge at	170º F
Boil time	180 minutes
pitching temp	58º F
Yeast	WLP013 London Ale (Worthington White Shield)

 

 

Beer Guide to the 1970s (part sixty-five)

We're getting close to the end now. Both of this series anf of the Whitbread breweries.

Did Whitbread close more breweries than anyone else? Not sure. But I doubt anyone beat them in the 1970s and 1980s.Though one of today's set lasted until the 1990s. Well done Tennant.

Speaking of Tennant, they were the original owners of the pub on our caravan site. My Dad must have drunk their beer. Pretty sure he drank Bitter, so it would either have been Trophy or Queen's Ale. Tennant was also the inventor of Gold Label. A beer with which I have a weird obsession. I've been trying to get someone to brew a 1950s version for years.

I did try the revived Chesters Mil a few times. I thought it was decent enough, though nothing outstanding.


Tennant
Sheffield,
South Yorkshire.
Founded:    1820
Closed:            1993
Tied houses:    700

Bought 1961. No cask beer in the 1970s. Reintroduced cask in the early 1980s.

beer	style	format	OG	description
Queen's Ale	Pale Ale	keg	1044
Trophy	Pale Ale	keg	1037
Gold Label	Barley Wine	bottled	1101.3	blended and matured

Threlfall (Liverpool)
Liverpool,
Merseyside.
Founded:    1818
Closed:            1982
Tied houses:    

Bought in 1967. Reintroduced cask beer at the end of the 1970s. Though I never drank it.

beer	style	format	OG	description
Special Cask Bitter	Pale Ale	draught	1041	dry, full-bodied
Trophy	Pale Ale	keg

Threlfall (Salford)
Salford,
Greater Manchester.
Founded:    1861
Closed:            1988
Tied houses:    

Bought in 1967. Produced no cask in the 1970s. In the early 1980s they brewed a couple of Chesters branded cask beers.

beer	style	format	OG	description
Trophy	Pale Ale	keg	1033.6
Chesters Best Mild	Mild	keg		dark

 

The above is an excerpt from my latest book, "Keg!".

Get your copy of "Keg!" now!